Among Wolves
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Aslaug doesn't understand Athelstan's place in Ragnar's life and household. She learns it though and sees his value.


_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Takes place in the four year gap between episodes 2x01 and 2x02._

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**AMONG WOLVES**

To know the lay of the land was always of the greatest importance. Aslaug had learned this as she'd learned of her father. He was known because of what he had accomplished, because of what he had slain. To fight was only half of the battle though, to prepare for it was the rest. King Sigurd had passed many lessons such as this onto his daughter. Combined with her gift of prophecy, it had served her well.

So Aslaug learned of Ragnar's people, of their ways and preferences. More importantly, she learned of those that did not truly love Ragnar Lothbrok as jarl and of those that Ragnar regarded especially well. Most of them made sense – Floki was a gifted boatbuilder who loved the gods so much that he saw what others did not. Friends such as Torstein were fierce warriors who would lay down their lives for Ragnar Lothbrok. Even Rollo, both brother and betrayer, had an understandable place in Ragnar's heart so Aslaug turned her attention to Rollo's wife. She saw the woman's covetous gaze, how much she wished to return to her former seat. With every loss, this desire grew stronger in Siggy. Aslaug told her of what she saw and held out a hand anyway.

She did not understand Athelstan's place.

He was not a Norseman, he spoke the language well but his accent betrayed him. His clothing was Norse but his manner was not. And while he spoke freely of Odin, something in him did not seem entirely bound to such words. She saw how her husband conversed with him, eyes bright with interest, teasing but affectionate. And she saw how he sparred with Athelstan, teaching him lessons that every child should know. The movements of battle did not come easily to Athelstan, but he appeared determined to master them. There was an unexpected eagerness in him to drown in such moments.

Aslaug watched and wished to understand. Here was someone of great importance to her husband, who lived in their home, but he was not a servant or warrior.

Floki called him 'priest', but it was always said with a sneer, like a brand not a respectful title. Aslaug's gift did not tell her who Athlestan was, but it did give her fractures of his future. They only confused and fascinated her further.

She saw blood and ink and nails.

So one day when Ragnar was visiting Floki and his latest boat, taking their eldest son with him, Aslaug sent for Athelstan. He came quickly, his hands muddy from the work he had been doing behind their dwelling. He looked slightly nervous, clearly noticing that he alone was her visitor, even her handmaidens were absent. But he nodded a respectful head and did not sit until she told him to. When she instructed him to take a drink, he poured one for her also.

He would not have gaped with greedy eyes if he had blundered upon her bathing as Ragnar's friends had. It was a pity he had not been amongst Ragnar's group that day. Perhaps events would have happened differently, or perhaps her sons would not have been born.

Aslaug looked at Athelstan for a long moment, taking in the details of him, the simple unadorned clothing, how unbraided his hair was, the fact that he carried no weapon and that he did not look at her with the hunger she was used to seeing in men's eyes. Perhaps that was why Ragnar continued to seek out Athlestan's presence, he did not behave as other men did.

Aslaug watched until he took a sip of ale, then she spoke again. "My husband values you."

Athelstan's eyebrows raised and his cheeks coloured faintly. "I'm humbled that my Lord Ragnar considers me valuable."

It was a good response, but there was something under his words that she could not yet grasp. "You are not Norse."

Athelstan barely flinched but Aslaug caught the movement. Athelstan shook his head.

"I am Saxon, my Lady. Ragnar and his men came to my home, I was valuable so I lived."

There was such wryness in his tone, as though his own perspective on that journey was not entirely grateful. It was Aslaug's turn to raise eyebrows and Athelstan caught her expression.

"Not that I'm not thankful now for the jarl's mercy. But it was...unexpected and I was not happy then."

There was much he wasn't saying. No doubt he'd been claimed on a raid yet he didn't talk of the blood that had been shed, of those he had lost, or of how he had been taken. Had such an event surprised Athelstan? Had it affected him at all? He had not been a warrior, but even those who did not fight knew of bloodshed. Even priests made sacrifices.

Priests. A concept that felt true now. Floki called him 'priest' for a reason. Aslaug drank deeply before voicing her clearer solid thoughts.

"You were a priest," Athelstan's slight movement confirmed it as Aslaug continued. "For a god far from Odin."

Something akin to fear played across Athelstan's expressive face and he swallowed, but he also nodded. Good, he chose not to lie.

"And Ragnar took you anyway."

Questions were clear in her tone so Athelstan took a breath and told her of his home, of a place where only priests – called monks – lived, of how they worshipped one god whose great act was to become a man who died and then rose again to life days later. Athelstan had lived only with such priests and so had never truly known women until Kattagat. A sheltered life then, peaceful and holy. There was value in that, but no joy or passion despite what he told her of religious fervour and his god's light.

Ragnar had taken him when most other monks had been struck down, because he had spoken Norse and Ragnar had seen value in that. Athelstan's voice was quiet when he spoke of how Ragnar had learned from Athelstan about other such places rich with gold in the West. Aslaug smiled, this was why Ragnar was so taken with the priest, he was brimming with knowledge. Such knowledge could be weighty and powerful as Ragnar had proven and he always thirsted for more.

Here also lived a sign of Ragnar's power for others to gaze upon – a Saxon priest who now lived as a loyal Norseman and willingly praised Odin. Look at what Ragnar could do.

Athelstan was silent now, staring down into his cup. He still looked Norse, but his manner betrayed him greatly as something else in that moment. There was danger, something hot and sharp that Aslaug could not see but that made her heart constrict. Her husband did not just speak to his priest because of the riches such conversations could bring, he did so because he also _enjoyed _talking to Athelstan. Aslaug could see the monk's beguiling manner, the softness beneath his beard, the brightness that caught attention. Perhaps Ragnar had seen that when he had first looked upon the priest. Perhaps he had also seen Athelstan's pretty face.

"Do you worship your pale Christ still?" Aslaug asked abruptly, a hand to her swollen belly.

Athelstan startled and looked at her with suddenly wide eyes. Had he looked that way towards Ragnar during the raid? Aslaug could imagine him so, as innocent and unbloodied as a newborn, unspoilt land ripe to be claimed and conquered. His god had kept him pure for Ragnar, what a gift.

He was taking too long to answer, which was an answer in itself.

"I look to Odin the Allfather now."

Aslaug's smile was intentionally knowing and Athelstan shifted, nervous, but his gaze was steady and he did not attempt to leave or say more. Good, he had been learning well in Kattegat. Aslaug's gaze measured him, what lay in his silences and glances. She wanted to know more, perhaps her hunger to do so was similar to Ragnar's. She did not lean forward but she inclined her head.

"Your god brought you here, yes? That is what you believe."

Athelstan's gaze skittered, he looked torn and troubled, no doubt reflecting how tumultuous his feelings were on the matter. This was the heart of it.

"And now you turn to the gods that form our lands and actions, and speak our dreams. They are part of all of us, especially Jarl Ragnar."

Athelstan's countenance told a story at the mention of Ragnar's name. It was a story of awe and adoration, but it was not a thing that caused jealousy to well within Aslaug. Rather it was a tether that kept Athelstan close and loyal. No matter how Norse he had learned to be, he was not yet a man who desired and coveted what was not his. Aslaug would see such affection, knowledge, and loyalty tied also to her sons.

That was not all she would see done. Ravens alighted on Ragnar, he looked beyond these shores and possessed a thirst to know as well as conquer. Odin had blessed Ragnar Lothbrok and Aslaug would see his sons equally blessed.

Her fingers danced lightly over her belly. Another son for Ragnar, she had glimpsed him already. A fine boy, with several wonderful futures ahead of him.

She focused again on Athelstan who had been gazing into the fire. There was a delicate beauty to his face and hands though his body was becoming visibly stronger thanks to the life he now led. It was a life she had seen him enjoy despite all the teasing and knocks he endured as he worked and trained hard with the men. He might privately yearn for his god and the peace he'd once known, but he now also enjoyed the cut of coldness on his skin, the taste of ale on his lips, and the heft of an axe in his hands. And that wasn't all.

"The gods are part of you now too."

She smiled and Athelstan looked discomforted. He did not speak against her though.

She held out her cup and Athelstan poured her more ale, his lips moving silently and perhaps without his knowledge. She had noticed before how often he muttered unknown words as he worked, words to his god perhaps. Did his god answer him? Or did Athelstan hear and seek other voices now?

Aslaug's smile broadened, she saw blood and ink and pounding seas. She felt her son move.

_-the end_


End file.
